Sudden Flash
by diddlekat
Summary: This is my first ever story: House wants him there.
1. Chapter 1

At first there was just the darkness, and then, then there was _something. _A slight pressure somewhere on him and a whisper of a sound that he felt he should recognise. He felt calm despite knowing that he shouldn't be, the very thought making his head hurt and then it was _him _making the noise and then he was with the pain and then the knowledge crashed into him.

The offered ride home, the stopping to pick up food and the blaring of a horn as metal crumpled and body buckled. Wilson? Where was Wilson?

"House? You in there?" a clearer voice from the surrounding hum and buzz of medics doing their job. Female, so not Wilson. He needed to open his eyes, find out what was happening, find _him_.

"House, you're in the hospital, you need to stay calm, everything's going to be ok." Probably Cuddy he reasoned, few others would bother to offer platitudes to him, even practically unconscious his reputation would prevent most of his colleagues from showing him any warmth.

"We are going to have to take you into surgery, stop the bleeding and fix you up," another squeeze of his forearm. Blurred eyes and hair came into view now, turning his head in desperation to try and catch a glimpse of Wilson, if he was here then he would be too, wouldn't he? He needed him, he _loved_ him

A sharp pinch and all there was was darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

The quiet wasn't peaceful, it was unsettling. Like before a storm when everything's been boarded up in anticipation of the oncoming destruction, but House hadn't been prepared. If he had known what was coming he could have stopped it, sheltered them both against the onslaught.

He sat there waiting, that was all he could do, like those childhood dreams where your legs won't move despite the slowly advancing demons. He knew somewhere in his mind that he wasn't actually sat there, there was no way he could be because he knew that he shouldn't be because of... something just there beyond his grasp.

Nothing was making sense except for the loneliness he felt, he knew he was lonely because _he _wasn't there. The only time he was ever truly alone was in the absence of Wilson, a fact would never admit out loud but he knew that he knew, so he wouldn't just leave him here to face this, whatever it was, unaided.

The rush of air broke the silence, raising him up and whipping him round and round. He didn't know what or where or why, he only knew he had failed and this failure had led to what he feared most. If he was lonely then that meant no Wilson, and no Wilson only meant that Wilson was no more.

Then it stopped, it all stopped. Unsettling quiet and the loneliness was all that remained.


	3. Chapter 3

Pain has defined him now for so many years that it is the shocking absence of it which finally startles him into something approaching consciousness. A steady beep tells him he is back wherever here is, and no longer there, whenever that may have been. Someone else also realises this and a small feminine hand entwines with his. An order is given to squeeze if he can hear the command to do so. Cuddy again, he thinks how old that particular dance is getting. Well he blinked before but he's dammed if he's going to squeeze now as squeezing means acknowledging that he is there and alone.

He lies there, he is words wash over him, he doesn't want to listen, the ones he catches; "Sorry", "Couldn't save", "Nothing we could do", only succeed to reinforce his loss. Usually he would battle her with his own words in order to wound and get her to stop, but he can't. He chooses instead to float away, her voice becoming little more than rain on grass.

Drifting he thinks about how this could all have been different. Maybe if Amber hadn't died, if Wilson hadn't come back to deliver him to his father's funeral, if they hadn't made that seemingly gigantic step from roommates to bed mates, god if they had just decided to forego food and head home... So many maybes and only one certainty. With this thought the pain returns, worse than ever, and fills his soul.


	4. Chapter 4

"House?"  
He knows he is dreaming.  
"Hey, House."  
He will only ever come to him in dreams now.  
"You need to wake up."  
No he doesn't. He doesn't need to do anything anymore.  
"House it's me, Wilson."  
He knows it's him, he knows his voice, his smell, his_ Wilsoness_. Ok, so maybe not a dream, hallucination fits better. Been there, done that, brought the straightjacket.  
"I'm sorry."  
Well you're the one that went and died on me and left me alone, you should be.  
"But it's going to be ok, we'll get through this together."  
Huh?  
"You just need to wake up, please House."  
He cannot deny a Wilson anything, even one produced by his own subconscious desires. He thinks he's opened his eyes but too bright and too dark means he can't be sure.  
"That's right, House, all the way."  
He can see the not-Wilson now, but he's not standing over him wearing a pocket-protected lab coat as predicted, he's sat in a wheelchair by the bed, unshed tears in his eyes.  
"Hey."  
"What?" he thinks he says.  
"We were in a car accident, remember?"  
He doesn't realise he's closed his eyes again, but he does nod so that this version of a Wilson will keep talking to him.  
"I was trapped, they couldn't get to me until they got you out, my heart had stopped. Oh God, House they had no choice."  
Eyes open again and he really sees the Wilson sat there, wearing a hospital gown and looking far from his usual well-groomed self. Wilson wipes his eyes, takes a breath and continues, "The only way to save me was to take your leg House, they amputated it at the scene. They took your leg so they could save me, I'm so sorry, it's my fault."  
He stares at the figment of his imagination. "Dead?"  
"For a few minutes, when you were on the table, but you're going to be ok."  
"No you," he tries to touch the Wilson, not daring to believe this could actually be real, "dead?"  
"They got me out, revived me, good as new," a small tired smile reaches Wilson's lips, "You were making near-death experiences look so cool I wanted one of my very own."  
He finally manages to close the distance between them. He grasps the hand that had been hovering near his own. Relief surges through him, no doubt now that this is _him_.  
"Your leg."  
"Doesn't matter," he cuts him off because it truly doesn't. He could cope with losing anything, _everything_, as long as he got to keep Wilson.  
"But," Wilson tightens his grip, "House."  
"Doesn't matter," he can feel the tug of sleep, "You're here and everything's going to be ok."  
As the darkness once again starts to slowly descend he feels the brush of lips against his own and he smiles, no longer alone he has nothing to fear.


End file.
